I love this stop. Desmond was seven when he last posed with me in front of (Mrs Beccles, for my Mr Pipes readers) Bakehouse, which I'll post later.
We saw where Cowper lived, where Newton lived and wrote hymns, and we sang at the grave and in the church.
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I kept trying to find desmond in these pics and i finally spotted a patch of flannel and sure enough there he was!
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